And it begins...

When the sun arose this morning, the world had changed for many, myself included. The radio turned on, my brain began to comprehend, and I began the mourning process.

I understand that many lives were lost in this tragedy, and I mourn for them. But on a more personal level, I mourn for the city of my childhood, the land of my ancestors, the home of my family and friends. I mourn for New Orleans. Say what you will about the other places being hit harder, but no other place has as much impact (in my life, at least) as Nouvelle Orleans.

Gone are the majestic oaks that lined St.Charles Avenue. Gone is the antique and rare bookshop I haunted as a teenager. Gone is the home my grandparents have owned since before I was born, the first place I was taken after my birth. The cemetaries I explored as a child are now desecrated swamps, with the remains of tombs and tombstones floating away. The park I used to play in with my sister is now a contaminated lake, unfit for any human life.

Even in the squalor of Bourbon Street, New Orleans has always been a city of magic, mystery, and allure. Maybe it is partially due to its torrid past. Passing through the hands of France, Spain, welcoming the Acadians exiled from Canada, the people combined the influences of everyone, creating their own unmistakeable culture.

The tastes and smells and sights of New Orleans are unmistakeable and irreplaceable. Jackson Square and Cafe du Monde. The St.Charles Cathedral. Bourbon Street and its filthy, yet alluring state. Chicory coffee and beignets at any time of day. The sounds of Creole and Jazz, and the paddleboats on the river. Audubon Zoo. The trolley cars rolling along St.Charles Avenue, decorated by the sunlight filtering through the oak trees that have stood for generations upon generations.

Some of these sights may still be there. But the feel and ambiance of the city will be overshadowed by the sense of loss. Maybe temporarily, maybe forever.

While I rejoice in the fact that so many lives were spared and saved, I mourn the destruction and loss that runs rampant through the city. I mourn the loss of the keystones of my memories.

I mourn for the city of New Orleans.

The habits instilled today

As a parent, I know that the day will come when my daughter wants nothing to do with me. (Or so she will say.) The things I buy her won't be trendy enough, the clothes I wear won't be cool enough. I won't be able to bake cookies like Becky Lou down the street's mom, who manned the bake sale for the Drama Club and still managed to say out of sight. I will, in short, be an embarassment to my child.

That day will come. And while I dread it, I have a secret plan. Listen up.

By the time my child is 6 or 9 or 13 or 15 or 19, there will be something about me that embarasses her. These things will change as she grows older. I ((GASP)) kiss her goodbye at school. I offer to drive her to school instead of riding the bus with her friends. I take her to buy a training bra. I wait up for her after a date. I kiss her goodbye when I bring her to Freshman Orientation at ND. But by then, I will have brainwashed her but good. ;)

Starting from 6 months (at least), I began to create rituals/habits/routines within our days. Every morning, I sing the same song to her. When we see a butterfly, we sing the same song about butterflies flying. When scary storms strike, we sing the the same song about angels. At night, we brush her hair with 50 strokes, and then my hair with 100 strokes. (And yes, she helps with both.) And when it's time for bed, we sing the same two songs. These are just some of them... the ones I've started now. As she gets older, things will change, and routines will be added and adjusted.

(Looking at them, you probably notice that many of them involve music. I am a firm believer that many people can easily associate a song with a particular action, event, or feeling.) By the time she's old enough to question her mother's "cool-ness", these songs and habits will be an irreversible part of her mental and emotional make-up. They will be the threads that bind us together, even when her words or looks or actions say otherwise.

Every night, she will brush her hair, and I will know. Every time she sees a butterfly, I know that even if she doesn't really sing it, she will remember the song, and somehow think of me. And I will have made myself a part of her day.

Even on the days when she wishes I was more like Becky Lou's mother.

To each (generation) his/her own

If someone were to ask you what music you listened to as a kid, what would you think of? My mental soundtrack of childhood is as varied and eclectic as my list of "dream jobs". Among the many, I think of: Ella Fitzgerald, Eric Clapton, John Coltrane, Kiri Te Kanawa, New Kids on the Block, Prince, The Mamas and the Pappas, Kathleen Battle, Joan Baez, Billy Holiday, and the London Philharmonic.

Even though I heard her music decades after it was recorded, the music of Joan Baez was a major influence in shaping my ideas and morals. "China" was a key player in molding my opinions of politics and human rights. 90% of the time, I try to avoid politics. I get angry, I get discouraged, and nothing changes. But for now, I have your attention, so bear with me.

One of my biggest issues with our current administration, is that they seem hell-bent on acting as if terrorism is a new thing. As if no other generation has ever before experienced this degree of fear or threat, and they are the only ones who will ever have to (or have ever had to) address it and act against it. I feel that they have a hidden agenda motivating them, all while they use "terrorism" and "a violation of human rights" as the headline rationale/excuse for their aggressive tactics.

Wrong.

Every generation has had it's own event or series of events that were a gross violation of human rights. Their own terrorists. Their own bloodbath and slaughtering of innocents.

The Armenian Genocide in 1915-1917. The Holocaust. The slaughter and exile in Tibet in 1950. The Massacre of Poles in Volhynia by Ukrainian guerrilla groups. The Arab-Isreali conflict. Tian'namen Square protests of 1989. The concentration camps and famine in North Korea. Chechnya. The "stolen generation" between 1900 and 1972 in Australia. Rwandan genocide. Ethnic cleansing and enslavement in Sudan.

The list could go on and on.

So what makes this particular set of events that we are currently experiencing any worse than the others? In a speech at West Point, Bush stated that, "America has no empire to extend or utopia to establish. We wish for others only what we wish for ourselves -- safety from violence, the rewards of liberty, and the hope for a better life." Isn't it interesting how this "active promotion of freedom and democracy" in all regions of the world has only extended to certain countries (Iraq, Iran, Russia, North Korea), but not others (Sudan)?

Promoting freedom and democracy should not be a pick and choose game. If we want it for all, then we fight for all. If we claim to promote it worldwide, then by god, stand up for it worldwide, instead of only fighting in situations which will benefit the United States.

And if you're going to claim that "America has no empire to extend or utopia to establish", then why have so many people in the current administration been involved with the conservative think-tank Project for the New American Century, which supports and advocates the dominance of world affairs by the United States?

There are too many questions here for me to rest easy, knowing that these are the people in charge of "promoting freedom and democracy". KWIM?

Oh, to be a Chicken Farmer

Recently, the universe conspired to (again) remind me of high school. In the process of (gasp) cleaning my house, I ran across a book titled "I Could Do Anything I Want.... If Only I Knew What". A friend asked me what my "dream job" was. My muse-of-the-day, Kiki, wrote about Thomas the Train in her blog.

What is the connect between these things, you might wonder? Well, they all remind me of this ridiculous test I had to take in high school, called the CAPS, COPS, and COPES Test. Yes, that is all just one test. The idea is that it will assess a student's abilities, interests, and ambitions, and then cross-analyze them all to determine what direction they should take in their career path.

When our results were handed back, I had a very memorable conversation with our resident genius. (Yes, genius. 200+ IQ, 1600 SAT, graduated at 15, etc. etc.) His results indicated that he would be perfectly suited for a career in the math and sciences, particularly business or engineering. No surpise there for any of us. My results, on the other hand, were not as clearly defined. Basically, according to the test, I had the interest and ability to do anything I wanted to.

I was not at all happy about this. In fact, I was down right pissed. I wanted the damn test to tell me to quit school and be a chicken farmer. Or get my diploma, and become a unionized garbage man. Or something. Tell me just one thing to go do. Tell me I'm too dumb to do many of the things I'm interested in, and I would be much happier.

Why? Why am I complaining about this? Because I do not have the ability to choose one thing and stick with it forever. I am always flip-flopping, mentally if not physically. If you ask what my "dream job" is, the answer will be in list format, ranging from medical researcher, to theater stage manager, to Italian-language interpretor, to a kindergarten teacher. And I'll still have left something out that interests me.

So what am I doing with my life? Well, I am proving that the stupid test was probably right. I teach kindergarten, and study Italian, French, German, and Spanish on the side. I hum show tunes in the shower and wonder if I could have actually made a career out of my music, as my teachers once urged me to do. I have rough drafts of plays in my desk, and partially finished portraits in my art pad. I mentally direct music videos, and read medical journals for fun. I am looking into the feasability of becoming a grant writer, and trying to determine what I could do with a Masters degree in Art History. I am raising my child, taking care of my husband, and attending school. I am walking a very fine line between what is and what could be. And I am worrying that when I am old, I will have failed to live in the here and now, opting instead to look over the edge at what could have been but never was.

Maybe that test was right. I could be whatever I wanted to be. And I after seven years, I am learning to embrace that, instead of resent it. I am no longer angry that I was not limited to being a chicken farmer, even if that might have made my life "easier". That is not who I am, nor who I ever was. But neither does it limit or define the person I will become. Because of all the things I could do or be, what I most want to be, is present. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physcially present. Embracing myself for the multi-faceted person that I am, and know that no matter what I am doing, I am doing it with my whole heart and self, learning from it, and taking those lessons with me where ever I go.

My reminder (to myself and others), is this: Do not let yourself be defined by what you do. We are more than the sum of our parts, or the individual pieces. What we become is ultimately determined by our attitude as much as it is by our experiences. And while we cannot completely control our experiences, we can shape and adjust our own attitudes to give them the "spin" that we want them to have. Be a "spin doctor" of your own life... go on, give it a whirl. See just how much fun one person can really have. I dare ya...

Begin anew

If you created a storyboard diagram of your life, what would it look like? Would we see you watching tv for endless hours at a time? Would we see you outside playing with your kids? Would we see you spending hours cleaning a house, only to have it trashed in ten minutes?

Would you be happy with what you see there?

Before I was pregnant, I imagined myself being a bizarre cross between Donna Reed and Ani DiFranco, if you can imagine. The woman with the perfectly coiffed hair, and pristine living environment, shuttling her children to Mamapalooza and the local N.O.W. meetings. With two college-graduate parents (one of whom has a degree in education), the TV would rarely be on, because since we'd rather read or discuss current events. If it were a bottled fragrance, it would be Eau du girl sweat and homemade apple pie. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

The reality of my life as a mother (thus far), is very, very different. On any given day, my hair may or may not have been thoroughly brushed. A ponytail or a single braid is about as elaborate as it gets. My house is rarely clean, and then only for special occassions. I have developed a quirk of thinking that any horizontal surface needs to be covered and given dimension, achieved only by stacking miscellaneous items upon one another, frequently defying the laws of gravity. I can't spend any time cooking, because my time in the kitchen is often spent removing all traces of dog food or dog water (and placing them on the aforementioned horizontal surfaces), or trying to calm my hysterical child who has become attached to my leg. My microwave does all the fancy cooking. And when it comes to entertainment or free time, I am ashamed to admit that we spend far too much time in front of the television set. If I turn it off, thirty-seven rounds of "Twinkle twinke little star" and "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" later, I'm madly flipping through channels, frantically trying to determine whether Judge Judy or Divorce Court is more harmful to my child. I think of "Family Feud" as a vocabulary game, and "Zaboomafoo" is a blessing in disguise. I can sing you the theme song to "The Backyardigans", and can correctly identify each of the Teletubbies 9 out of 10 times.

It is not always like this, but it is definitely more often than I would like. I fear I have become my own worst nightmare.


The good news, is that it's still early. I can confess my parental sins, and repent. Prostrating myself upon the altar of parenthood, I can take the necessary steps to move forward in my parental evolution. But I run out of things to do. I have an educational background intended to prepare me to assist other people's chidren in developing mentally, emotionally, and socially, and yet, I have no idea how to entertain my own 15 month old daughter for an entire day without the aid of a tv or movie.

I am floundering on the shore of motherhood, praying for a life preserver. And while it saddens me to say this, I am also very afraid that the very women I respect and admire so very much, many of them fellow mothers (posse, you know who you are) will read this and cease to have any respect for my parenting abilities. I hope that is not the case...

I believe Nelson Mandela, when he says that "the greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall". I may have fallen, tripping myself in my own tangled web, but I can rise up and begin anew. Tomorrow is a new day, a new hope, and new chance to succeed. I know what I will do with it - what will you?

Giving them up to the unknown

"..the giving of love is an education in itself."
Eleanor Roosevelt 1884 - 196


I recently found myself flipping through my old high school yearbook (for some reason I can't remember), and came across a message from a friend that read, "Who will be # 10,482?" She was referring to what my mother called my "collection of boys". Remember how in middle/high school, a couple would begin "going out" together? Well, I was a notorious speed dater. My shortest record was 2 hours. It got to the point where there was a betting pool on how long my relationships would last.

Sad? Maybe. I prefer to look at it as a series of tests. I didn't date until I entered high school, and suddenly there was a plethora of options. I would begin a relationship, and end it as soon as I'd decided it was not what I was looking for. I couldn't have verbalized what I was looking for, but I knew when something wasn't it. None of them were what could be described as a "serious relationship", despite rumors to the contrary. All in all, it was a highly entertaining way to spend the high school years.

It wasn't until I entered college that I had my heart broken. I was in a relationship with a wonderful fellow, which I thought was going somewhere, when it ended suddenly. He had met someone else. After locking myself in my room and sobbing until my nose was puffy, my eyes were red, and my vision was blurry, I came to the conclusion that if I truly cared about him, then I would want him to be happy. So I wrote a long letter to him, explaining that because I cared so much, I was willing to toss my hopes for our former relationship aside and move on.Looking back, I wonder at the ease with which I moved on. I wonder if my ability to let go as easily as I did indicates that my commitment to the relationship wasn't as serious as I had thought.

The funny thing, is that as much as I dated, I tended to worry about the men I dated. I worried that in sending them back out into the dating pool and it's inevitable pit of water moccassins, they would get hurt. The fear of the unknown. The "I may not be the best thing for them, but what if they end up with someone worse" feeling. Nevermind that it's no longer a relationship I wanted to be in. Would they find someone else? Would that person make them laugh? Would that person encourage them to be themselves, or would they try to "change" them?

I am now very happily married, but I still have the same feeling - only this time, it's with puppies.

Yes, puppies. We have a small litter of puppies hanging around our house. I know that they will soon be brought to the No-Kill Animal Shelter to be given to good homes, but I worry that the homes they find won't be as good as the one they have here. Nevermind that I can't afford to feed three more grown dogs. Will they be well fed? Will they have another dog to play with? Will they have lots of room to run around?

I keep telling myself - if I truly care about them, I will let them go. They need to find their own place in the world, their own family to love. Giving them up to the unknown is the hardest thing. I know that as a mother I will more than likely experience a very similar feeling as I watch my children grow up. The world can be a scary place, and sending them out into it is even scarier. No longer can I protect them from everything, and filter their experiences. No longer can I shelter them from all evils, and minimize their pain. So I rely on the only thing I can tell myself: let go, and let God.

Let go, and let God.... Let go, and let God.... Let go, and let God....

Faith can be the scariest thing, and simultaneously the most reassuring thing of all.